


Mercy

by lezzerlee



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Begging, Blindfolds, Bondage, Community: ae_match, Edgeplay, M/M, NSFW Art, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lezzerlee/pseuds/lezzerlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has never begged before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has super sexy NSFW artwork at the end.
> 
> Thanks to [immoral_crow](http://immoral_crow.livejournal.com) for the beta!

“Wait, you have to hold on Arthur.”

He struggles against the bonds, feeling the nylon cord dig into his wrists, his ankles, but he doesn’t pay any attention to the uncomfortable pinch, the pull of the skin, because all he can focus on is the loss of perfect friction as Eames lets go of his cock. Arthur’s hips twitch involuntarily and a small, choked moan escapes before he can regain control of his body; he’s so close.

“Not until I say,” Eames reminds him, voice now right next to his ear. Arthur can feel the soft puff of wet heat from Eames’ mouth as he speaks. He shivers, wishing he could see. “You’re being so good for me, just a little while longer, yeah?” 

Arthur shouldn’t feel so pleased at small compliment, but it’s been hours and he’s been so good. Eames has kept him on the edge of orgasm; his cock is aching, painfully so, and Arthur’s ability to hold out is faltering. He nearly sobs when Eames strokes a fingertip up his length, over-sensitive, but needing more.

“Please,” he gasps, and a wave of shame rolls over him. Arthur never begs — has never begged — for anything before.

The bed shifts as Eames moves. Arthur can feel Eames hover over his body, knees on either side of his hips and arms pressing in just outside his shoulders. Eames whispers, lips hovering just above his own in a teasing half-kiss, and Arthur can smell the whiskey on Eames’ breath, feel the corners of his unbuttoned shirt drag up the skin of his stomach. “Say it again.”

Arthur shakes his head no, head bouncing off his arms stretched above his head, biting his lip hard to keep quiet. He won’t beg again. The shift of the bed is the only warning Arthur gets before he feels Eames’ hand wrap around him again. He only lets out a whimper as Eames holds him, not moving, just flexing his hand, giving an agonizing pulse of pressure that’s too much and not enough.

“Oh, Arthur. Pretty Arthur. You want it, don’t you? You want me to let you come.” Eames’ voice is low, rough like gravel, in a way that makes Arthur weak. Eames strokes his hand up Arthur’s cock slowly, letting a thumb slide over the head. He nearly loses control again.

“Yes,” Arthur gasps, gritting his teeth and sucking in staccato breaths. Questions are acceptable; answering a direct question is not begging.

“Then you have to ask,” Eames sighs mockingly and releases his hold. Cock spasming, bouncing off his stomach, Arthur thrusts his hips into the air, trying to find Eames’ hand as it moves away. He can’t pull his legs up against the rope, can’t pull his arms down to stroke himself. He’s trapped until he gives in or gives up, neither of which Arthur is willing to do.

“No,” he says when his hips have stilled. He tries to relax, realizing he’s cutting off the circulation to his hands by straining so hard against the ties . Concentrating on evening out his breath, he sucks in air through his nose and releases it through his mouth. He tries to think of something, anything to take his mind off his desperate need for release.

Eames moves down the bed and licks a stripe up, from Arthur’s balls to the tip of his dick. All of Arthur’s concentration is broken and he moans loudly, uncontrollably, as Eames’ tongue swirls around the tip, collecting some of the fluid that’s been steadily leaking unto Arthur’s stomach. His moans are incoherent, noises of want, of pain, of pleasure and frustration. Eames sucks him down, flexing his throat around his he head of his cock and rolling his tongue along the length.

“You will beg for me, Arthur.” Eames says when he pulls off, just as Arthur is about to come; his timing agonizingly perfect. Eames draws himself up to kiss Arthur deeply, tongue stroking its way along his teeth and tangling with Arthur’s own. He can taste the salt of his own skin on Eames’ tongue, mixing with the spicy drink. “You will beg.”

 

art by [essouffle](http://essouffle.livejournal.com)  



End file.
